The other day I had lunch with a group of long-time friends. The six of us get together every three of four months, and lately we’ve developed the ritual of checking-in. Around the table we go, one by one telling what’s going on in our lives. Although we keep in touch individually, this communal forum offers a venue for a more public, on the-record-account, thus making our group time together sacred.
     Knowing there would be a formal check-in, I found myself planning ahead what I wanted to say. I gave an update on the doings of my family, and then albeit awkwardly, I talked about how important my faith is to me, not just as a way to do nice things for others, but as the only way I know to be humble. I mentioned that I grapple with my white privilege; that being a good person on my own isn’t enough; and that my faith leads me to confront judgments, critiques, pride, impatience, and arrogance that keep me from being humble. In other words, I can’t be humble all by myself on my own doing. AND, I desperately need humility because it the only way of being that leads me to peace.
     To my surprise I ended by saying, “I believe that right now in my life I am supposed to pray for people.”
     Honesty among old friends.

      Those of you who follow me on this blog know that I long for solitude-- after all, that’s what the blog is about. But even if you don’t know me personally you can probably surmise that I can be quite social. On the Myers-Briggs I’m right in the middle on the introvert/extrovert continuum. I get energy from both solitude and community.
     Lately I’ve been thinking about community, it’s importance in society at large, and for me in particular. Although I have a good amount of solitude in my life, I also have many communities: family, friends, and church are the big categories, but within them are many little overlapping ones.
     Case in point. Friday I went to Andover Newton Theological School to celebrate the retirement of Bob Pazmino, Professor of Christian Education. When I was there (1998-2003) getting my MDiv, Bob was a mentor and friend. We had much in common through our writings for teachers: he for Christian educators, me for elementary school teachers. His memoir, A Boy Grows Up in Brooklyn, was a catalyst for me to write Very Grateful: The Story of My Hundred Year Old Mother and Me.
     That evening of celebration rekindled many communities from my student days at ANTS. Communities with professors, administrators, students, and families, and each with overarching theme of writing. A long time friend asked for encouragement to write when she retires in June; a graduating student explained how he wants to write about climate change; one of Bob’s cousins told me she had read Joyful Learning when she was a kindergarten teacher. Kirk Jones, my preaching professor, asked me what I was writing these days, and then encouraged keep at it. He and I are going to be in touch. 
     Yes, we have our major communities, which for me are family, friends, and church. And we have our small ones, too. They flow among each other, coming and going, vibrating and fading, but all part of the whole which constitutes our lives.
   

     Today is my mom’s birthday. She would have been 108, but good for her and lucky for me, she lived to over 101. As many of you know, Mom’s last words, thirteen days before she died, were, ‘Very Grateful.’ Although I lived with her daily demonstrations of gratitude, I became more conscious of the gratitudes in my life as I wrote about our last two years together in Very Grateful: The Story of My Hundred Year Old Mother and Me.
     Truth be told, it is easy for me to wake up every morning and list all the gratitudes in my life. But as I look at the lot of many, I am challenged for the world and for individuals.
     Choice comes to mind. I have so many that I can sum them up by saying, “I am grateful for all the choices in my life,” and get on with my day.You know what I’m talking about because most of you reading this blog have myriad choices, too: food, clothing, shelter. I’m not talking minimum, I’m taking about choices as in excess. I’m not talking minimum, I’m talking about big life choices.
      Separating migrant families at our Mexican border expunges the word choice from the vocabulary of those literally starving for a better life… and, I imagine for some of the border patrollers carrying out such a mandate. I have to stay hopeful about this. Hope is a choice, and a grateful one, to be sure.

Transplant was successful. Very grateful.

    Today, May 1, is a day of hope for my second cousin, Mark (age 55), who is having a kidney transplant. I usually don't talk about prayer on this blog, but today I'm breaking my rule.
       Please pray for Mark and his donor, and for Kyllee and the young boy who will be receiving the kidney that she is donating on May 2. 
This isn't a simple procedure; it simply give Mark life.
 
Here is what Mark wrote on Face Book
 
April 4, 2018: I already shared this on the kidney page, but thought I’d share here for people who aren’t connected to that.
We have a transplant date!
Well, two dates actually. Since we are not doing a direct donation (Kyllee to me) but rather a paired exchange (where we swap donors around so everybody gets the best match they can find), my surgery and Kyllee's won't be on the same day. My surgery will be on May 1, and hers will be May 2.
We are not told a whole lot about the rest of the exchange chain, but it must be at least 3 donor/recipient pairs. The kidney I will get will be coming from a 27 year old male who is doing his surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. That's about an hour from here, so the kidney will be in transit only a short time, which is a good thing. So we're very excited to know that.
The real news, at least in my mind, is that Kyllee's recipient will be a 14 year old boy who will be at Cornell for his transplant. The fact that a kid will be able to benefit from this is really moving for me and for Kyllee.
In fact, the longer I've had to think about paired exchange donation, the more I'm convinced it's actually better for the world as a whole than direct donation. Obviously, if a direct donation works, then great. And I understand that some people feel more comfortable with knowing their recipient.
But it seems to me that, if the Kidney Registry is able to match us up with an uknown number of people in a chain, all in a couple of weeks, there must be a large number of mismatched donor/recipient pairs out there who are stuck, waiting only for someone to come along and start the chain that breaks them free. So I encourage everyone, the next time you know about someone who needs a kidney donor, to think about (and more importantly promote) the idea of paired exchange--of being the someone who becomes the key to saving several lives.
In our case, Kyllee was that someone, and now we know that at least one person in the chain is a young person with a long future yet to be decided, who now gets a shot at that future. To think about that kid (and all the other people in the chain and all their loved ones) who will be helped makes my struggles seem less like a burden and more like a gift. Though I could never donate a kidney for obvious reasons, the fact that I'm a part of this chain means that I get to feel at least a part of what that would be like.
So once again, thank you Kyllee for your generosity and selflessness. Thank you also to all our friends and family who have stood by us and encouraged us. And thank you universe for forcing me to reach out for help that is ultimately going to help others as well.
 
 
April 21, 2018 I went yesterday for pre-surgical testing and a meeting with the surgeon, and I thought I'd post a bit about what they're planning to do and what I can expect recovery-wise, for those who are interested. I don't expect I'll be doing a lot more posts on this page, seeing as I'll be getting my transplant done a week from Tuesday.
They are not only going to give me a new kidney, they are going to take the old ones out (this is not standard procedure). My kidneys are really big (imagine swallowing a couple of Nerf footballs) and riddled with cysts that sometimes burst and cause me a lot of pain. Getting rid of them will get rid of the gut that I have (I'm vain enough to admit it's troubled me for years that I look much fatter than I am), and will also eliminate problems with bursting cysts. It means I'll be able to return to bicycling once I'm recovered, which has been one of the most disappointing of the things I've had to give up in the last few years (and as a hidden bonus, they will wind up incidentally fixing my umbilical hernia in the process).
But of course this gain does not come without a cost. Because the old kidneys are so big, they're gonna open me up from the bottom of my sternum to just below my belly button, which is a much larger incision than they'd make for just a transplant, and they'll have to jostle more of my insides around. That means that instead of 3-5 days in the hospital I can expect 5-7 days. Not a huge amount longer, but let's face it--any time in the hospital is longer than you want. I'm hoping that because I'm healthy going in my hospital time will be more on the 5 day side, but there's no guarantee.
After I get home, recovery is much like if I'd only done the transplant: No heavy lifting for 4 weeks, no driving until I'm off pain medications, lots of pills, lots of return visits to the hospital for tests (like twice a week for the first couple of weeks, then once a week, then once a month, etc.). With luck, I'll be back to something approximating normal in a couple of months.
It's hard to believe this has all come together, and that we're about to go through yet another life-changing experience. We remain extremely thankful for the generosity of Kyllee, and for the caring of our friends and family. Thank you all so much.

     Here is the most simple solution to a lost car key problem these days. You don’t just go to Home Depot where they make you a new one for $3 plus. No, yesterday I sat in the spacious lobby/waiting room of my local Toyota dealer waiting for a new key to be programmed for my car, to the tune of $300 plus. The lost key is in my house, somewhere between the garage and kitchen. Or, maybe it’s at the dump.
    I’d been using the spare for the last couple of months, which fine as long as I don’t lose it. Then I am in deep expensive trouble. After having the car towed in (remember, spare key lost) they would have to reprogram from inside (remember, spare key lost), to the tune of $800 plus.
    The cost yesterday included labor, $100 plus per hour, and the key, $100 plus. Obviously this is not a Home Depot key. I get that people have to live, but, when I bought the car I had no choice about this key feature that is all about protecting my car from being stolen. My attitude may be an age thing.
     On the other hand, we drove our last Toyota for fourteen years before delegating it to local trips to the town dump. I certainly don’t want this one stolen. No chance: I feel expensively protected.

     After being away I somehow feel obliged to give a little welcome home report. A wonderful trip as usual, and as usual I’m glad to be back. I can’t take a credit for bringing the Italian spring with me, but just maybe I did. Today is the first day over 6O degrees; the forsythia is out. The red hot Red Sox will return home soon from an extraordinary road trip; the Bruins and Celtics lead in their playoffs series; runners crossed the marathon finish line in spite of the rain. Boston is Strong.
     My trip, however, had a different feel to it. Although I have no regrets spending time in Rome, Assisi, and Cortona, I missed my usual two weeks in Florence. Nor do I have any complaints about the monastery where I stayed. However, its location was not quite as central as I like, and I missed the ambiance of an apartment where I could prepare a salad and get into the rhythm of living in the city.
     On the other hand, if it weren’t for my shortened stay, I might never have decided to take advantage the free historical and cultural offerings of Florence. The only entry fee I paid was four euros to see the frescos painted by Fra Angelico’s in the monks’ cells at the Convent of San Marco. I could have spent another five days being Free in Florence.

     What is enough? A friend told me that every January 1st she chooses a word or phrase to live with for the year. Here in Florence I’ve been thinking about ‘enough’ as my word to embrace. How many cappuccini, views of the Duomo, walks along the Arno, or visits to San Miniato del Monte are enough? Can I be satisfied with these moments and give up planning my next trip? Can I be in the present, right NOW, and know that it is enough? Is it possible that whatever I have right NOW is enough?
    I started writing this in the cemetery surrounding San Miniato. Thousands of mausoleums, statues, and grave stones are there for those living now to remember, although memories are never static, and often not enough. And then, there is a mysterious NOW of the dead person.
    Every morning I give a euro to a man standing outside the café where I come to write. Today I notice that he came in and bought a coffee. Was it enough? I don’t know other than to believe that for him, as with any morning coffee lover, one coffee is better than none.
    What is enough? There is no definitive answer to my question, but in asking it, I become more present to this moment, and that feels like enough. Regardless, enough is enough of a word to live with for the rest of the year.

Here is a treat for you garden lovers, especially those intrigued with organic gardening. It was just the place to enjoy a sandwich among the trolls and plants on this gorgeous day.

    This cottage-by-the-sea blog is about “silence, solitude and simplicity, and for people who sometimes like to be alone.” I chat about what’s On My Mind and when I’m traveling, well, travel is on my mind. Sometimes I post on, Solitary Traveler, which usually features lengthier travel articles. Although the two topics are somewhat interchangeable, I try to keep them separate: On My Mind, for general comments, Solitary Traveler, for travel. Sounds simple and obvious, but it ends up pretty random where I post.
     Today, what’s on my mind is solitude and as a solitary traveler that’s what I’m always searching for. This trip I’m finding the crowds more exhausting than usual. I don’t need to be completely alone, but being in a pack crossing the Ponte Vecchio does me in. Morning and evening will be my times along the Arno.
    Yesterday afternoon I enjoyed a sandwich in the garden of the Casa per Ferie Suore Oblate dell’Assunzione, the peaceful convent where I’m staying. I was completely alone. Blissful. Then I walked to Piazzale M.D. Azeglio to be alone in the presence of walkers and bicyclists, dog owners and friends playing soccer, and with the noises that accompany them. I don’t have to be alone in the garden to feel solitude; I just need space.

        This morning I was back at the Café Red in the Felletrini bookstore on the Piazza della Republica. For years I’ve been coming here mid-mornings to write and fuel up on a cappuccino and brioche. Nothing much has changed. Folks are writing, reading, chatting with friends, and attending study groups.

     Outside the old men continue to take over the tables for their morning socializing. I recognized a few of them from years past. All this makes me another one of the anonymous individuals that feels at home here.